We're Wolves
by stickzx
Summary: House Stark is ancient and mysterious, the rest of Westeros trembles everytime they come South. A history of a dark and twisted House Stark that rules the North.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

AN: The title is from Taika Watiti, a brilliant man.

 **Aegon the Conqueror**

A chill was in the air; it had crept into his bones and that of his men as they slept during the night. The Northern host had arrived in the Hour of the Wolf, and had set up their camps a few miles away.

Yet even with them being a distance away, he felt the magic that they brought with them. An unholy and unnatural magic, it reminded him of blood and bone. The strangest sensation of all was the feeling that he was always being watched and the strange silences that had descended onto the woods made his the hairs on his skin stand up.

He had thought his new Lords had been exaggerating when they spoke of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of the North. Tales of wolf men who devoured their enemies was the common theme, along with rumors of skin changers, cannibalism, and dark secrets permeated his camp.

Yet now as he stood opposite the Northern host awaiting the arrival of the King of Winter to treat, and hopefully bring the North into his newfound kingdom. He could not deny that there was something strange and unnatural with the North, especially the Starks.

* * *

He saw him then, a big brute of a man who lumbered across the field, tall and confident. With him came a haze of gloom and dread, he could feel his instincts kick in. Telling him to run, as if a predator had just been sighted and he was the prey.

Yet run he did not, he was a dragon and a King, Westeros was his by right of conquest and there was no one that could stop a dragon.

Still the dread feeling did not dissipate, only getting stronger as he was finally able to see the man's eyes for himself.

They were a dark yellow that would not be out of place on a wolf, it was surrounded by a deep orange that gave the man a sinister look, and in the center was a black circle that bore into his with utmost confidence.

Torrhen the Treacherous they called him, a dangerous man known for throwing his enemies to his Bolton dogs to be flayed.

Yet now it was time, time to cement his kingdom and prove to Westeros that Valyrians were still the greatest in the world.

* * *

"Stark." He spoke in greeting.

The man had stopped a few feet away from him and had simply stared.

"Dragon King." The Northman replied with a low voice that sounded ominous.

"Have you come to bend the knee? Your lords would thank you for saving them from Fire and Blood."

The beast laughed at that, did he not know what had happened to the Lannisters and Gardeners?

"The North is not afraid of fire and we know all about blood, dragon. We are scared of neither."

"Bend the knee Stark, do the smart thing, or there will be another field of fire."

"We are not the South, Dragon. We are of the North, of ice and death, even now we see the effects of the cold on you and you're dragons."

Aegon narrowed his eyes at that, he was careful to show no emotion and his dragons were far in the back being warmed by fires. How could these savages know how much the cold affected him and his dragons?

Stark continued. "I should also warn you, dragon. We did not come unprepared." He raised his hands and the haze dissipated enough for him to see the scores of scorpions that the North had brought with them.

He lowered his hands then and a feral grin erupted on his face before snarling out "How many of your pets are you prepared to lose to defeat me?"

Aegon knew that his dragons would win the day, even if they had as many scorpions as they did, however the cost would be unimaginable… His rule was fragile and there was still Dorne to contend with.

Even if he were to win the day, it would be a nightmare to lead a campaign North to siege every castle and holdfast. Will men really die for him in the cold North, after he had turned their friends and neighbors into ash?

It was an impossible choice and this beast of a man was still smirking at him, yet to be king meant he had to make the hard decisions.

Before he could finish his thought, Stark spoke again. "I am not without kindness, perhaps we can come to an agreement?"

Stark continued "Bring forth your mightiest warrior, if he can defeat me in battle than the North is yours."

"And if he loses? What is your price, Wolf King?"

"A Targaryen bride shall come North and wed a Stark of Winterfell, then and only then shall the North join your Kingdom."

"I accept your agreement Wolf; I shall see you submit by the end of the day."

Stark's feral grin came back. "Bring forth your champion, Dragon King, and let him know that Winter is Coming for him."

* * *

Aegon raged as he walked back towards his army, the arrogant wolf had backed him into a corner and he would see him dead. It bothered him even more to know that the wolf knew that he couldn't be the one to face off against him. He was the only trueborn son in the Targaryen family still living, if he were to fall than the ignorant Westerosi would not follow one of his sisters.

He needed to rely on a strong champion, a knight to shatter the Wolf and bring his head so that all can see the folly of angering a dragon.

He knew just the knight for the job.

* * *

Aegon watched as Lord Strong stood tall and proud versus the Wolf King. Strong was a Lord that belonged to the Tully's of Riverrun, a giant of a man with tree trunks for legs and arms. If he had to guess, Strong was probably two to three heads taller than the wolf.

It would be an easy victory and then he could focus on consolidating his kingdom, before going after Dorne.

Stark drew his sword then, a giant weapon that would be more fitting to be used as an executioner's blade instead of combat.

Both men looked ready and he clapped to signify that the duel would begin.

It was here that he now understood why his Lords truly feared the Kings of Winter.

Stark charged with a ferocity that he had never seen in a man before, his demeanor reminded him more of a wolf attacking its prey.

The Wolf King swung his giant sword more like a club and every hit onto Lord Strong sounded as if a hammer had hit an anvil rather than the graceful sword play he was used to.

It was over in seconds, the wolf wielded an unnatural strength that had cut off Lord Strong's sword arm, than his other arm, before bisecting the man in two.

Lord Strong now lay in pieces and it was his fault.

With trembled breath and a shaky voice he spoke. "What are you? A beast or a man?"

The Wolf King smiled at him then, an arrogant one before saying. "Remember Dragon King, the North will not bend the knee until a Targaryen bride comes North."

Stark turned to leave, only looking back to say "As to your question, we're wolves."

* * *

AN: My start to an idea for a more dark and twisted House Stark. Tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This chapter is supposed to be read while listening to the song "Night of the Werewolf" By Brandon Fiechter on youtube on repeat.

 **Torrhen the Treacherous**

Lizard men cloaked in human skin, that's what the Targaryens were, monsters in the shapes of men. Torrhen knew this only because it took a monster to recognize one.

Yet as Torrhen walked away from the Lizard, he felt unimpressed, real monsters did not let others dictate their actions. The Lizard had let his fear and pride rule his actions, with that came defeat when facing another predator.

It mattered not to Torrhen that he was a Lord or a King, the Wolf has ruled over the North for thousands of years, a few generations as vassals to a Lizard would be a drop in the bucket. What mattered most is what they will gain.

Blood and bone, they stand to gain much power with the blood of the dragons in their line. It was a Stark tradition after all, to take the daughters and sons of defeated foes into their blood.

That was how the Stark line had gained the powers of the skinchangers, the War of the Wolves they had called it. Where the Kings of Winter fought against Gavin Greywolf and his kin, Torrhen's ancestors had won and devoured the Greywolf line down to the last. With that the Stark powers grew and with each devoured foe, their line grew stronger.

The Warg Kings were next, they ruled over Sea Dragon Point, and had taunted the Wolf. Boasting of their power and strength, yet their powers and strength failed them when winter came. Their daughters and sons were prizes given to Stark lords and ladies. The blood of the Warg Kings had also given the Starks the power of green sight, though the power manifested rarely.

It was through green sight that the Wolves had seen what the Lizards had planned, with that came preparation for the invasion. Winterfell and other castles now had scorpions ready to unleash hell onto the flying lizards if they dared to come North.

Now as for the shap-

"Brother! Shall we prepare to devour these fools? The Lords are prepared to show these Southrons what Northerners can do." Torrhen's bastard brother interrupted.

Brandon Bareback they called him, his bastard brother who was always eager for bloodshed. The Northern sheep called him bareback because he often went bare chested, forgoing a shirt even in the cold.

His family, the pack, called him bareback because of his voracious appetite in carving the Stark sigil onto the backs of their defeated foes.

The bastard was a hairy man, some even mistaken the hair on his chest and arms as fur. It was a common Stark trait, the hair they had were thick and plentiful, often colored white and gray. The most notorious Stark trait were the Wolf Eyes, the dark yellow eyes, surrounded by a deep orange, with an obsidian core in the center. It gave them a sinister stare; that often made men wet themselves.

A look was all it took for him to show Brandon his displeasure at the interruption, and for having the audacity to question him in public.

"No, inform the sheep that we will be returning North immediately, our business with the Dragons is finished for now." He replied to the bastard.

"But-"

He looked at him again, staring into his gray eyes, daring the bastard to challenge him again.

"I understand Brother, I will inform them immediately."

He watched as Brandon left, his gray eyes downcast. It was a strange thing, bastards born to Starks never had the Wolf Eyes; their eyes were a dull gray that signified them as bastards instead. Not that anyone in the North would dare insult a Stark bastard, they were regarded as part of the pack, and you do not anger the pack of Wolves without inviting harm to come.

* * *

Torrhen had cleaned himself up; the blood that had drenched him when he fought his foe was nearly gone. Except for the bits of red that now colored his beard, it mattered not since it was a common sight for Starks.

He sat at his table, feasting on his dinner of meat and bacon, Torrhen was expecting his brother to come soon. The bastard was not a schemer, more interested in what he could maim, kill, or torture now rather than going for the big kill later.

Torrhen was soon proven right when his brother entered the tent, his eyes a storm of emotion, Torrhen could tell that giving up their crown was bothering him.

"Brother, can you please explain to me, how you justify giving up the Crown of Winter to some sister fucking fool?" Brandon asked hotly before sitting down.

"Brandon, what makes you think the Kings of Winter will give up their crown forever? The Dragons will have their crown when they deliver a Targaryen bride to us, but their rule will not last long." Torrhen replied coolly.

"How are you so sure about this? They have Dragons, and each year these Northern sheep serve a new King, will weaken their respect for House Stark and the Kings of Winter."

"The Targaryens are fools who do not even study their own history, the Valyrian Freehold ruled over a large empire, but they had hundreds of Dragons. Westeros is as big as Essos, and the Targaryens have a handful of dragons at most, dragons that will become targets for schemers everywhere."

"You're speaking of the gray rats?"

"Yes the Maesters of the Citadel will not be happy with Valyrian Dragons and Magic, you know our history with them brother. Not to mention the Faith of the Seven fanatics, they will not be kind to the Dragons who practice incest and polygamy.

"These are still obstacles that can be overcome; the rats and the faith do not have the power to defeat Dragons."

"That's where you are wrong brother; they are schemers and liars; their ways are subtle and will take a long time. Regardless in that time we will receive what we want, and they will hardly bother us until they are broken."

Brandon looked at him to clarify more.

So Torrhen obliged him and continued "The Dragons are not like us Brandon, I have glimpsed into the eyes of that Lizard who wears the cloak of a man named Aegon. These things do not regard family as we do, they will fight over themselves and destroy themselves. They are fire made flesh and these fires will eventually burn their own flesh."

Brandon looked thoughtful and replied. "Should we really absorb their fire into our line then?"

"The Starks are old and ancient, even older than these Valyrians; their blood is just as magical as ours. However, we have something they lack, a control over it that cannot be matched. We will take their power and make it our own, the more Targaryen blood we take, the easier it is to achieve our goals."

"And what is our goal than brother? What can Dragon blood and magic really do for us?"

Torrhen gave him a cruel smirk then, it was the goal the Starks have coveted from the time Brandon the Builder was alive. It was why the Kings of Winter have kept the eggs they've found for generations instead of selling them.

Torrhen looked at Brandon and replied coolly "Ice Dragons, brother."

* * *

AN: Hoped you enjoyed it, the next part will advance time. Tell me what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Encounter with the Unknown**

The pact of Ice and Fire they called it, where Torrhen Stark defeated the Targaryen champion to win the North's its freedom until a Targaryen bride was delivered to Winterfell.

Unfortunately for the North, Aegon in his bitterness, refused to complete the pact and swore to never send a Targaryen north. He was content with consolidating his rule over the rest of his kingdom, and focusing on Dorne.

The First Dornish War began in 4 AC and did not end until 13 AC. For the Targaryens, the war was the first taste of tragedy and was a stark reminder that a conquest of Westeros was not as easy as they had hoped.

Rhaenys Targaryen, sister-wife to Aegon, was killed sometime in 10 AC. With one of his brides dead, it further cemented Aegon's belief that he could not send a bride to the Starks. This brought wide spread criticism of Aegon and his rule, for if a King could not hold to his promises, how could his Kingdom trust him?

Luckily for Aegon, he only fathered two sons, Maegor and Aenys with each wife respectively. Rhaena would be born in 23 AC to Aenys and his wife Alyssa Valaryon, only for Aegon to reject sending his only granddaughter North. She would marry Aegon, her brother and heir to the throne.

It was not until 37 AC did Aegon the Conqueror finally die and his son Aenys Targaryen took his place. Aenys, vowed to bring the North to the fold, but his rule was marred by rebellions. Aenys was a learned man, but a weak King.

The Faith would rebel against the Targaryens as Torrhen predicted, too familiar with the fanatics as the North worshipped the Old Gods. Aenys would die in 42 AC, and his brother Maegor would usurp his son Aegon.

At the time Rhaena and Aegon were besieged at Crakehall by the Faith, and with Maegor's coronation did the Faith leave to march for King's Landing. Rhaena and Aegon escaped to Casterly Rock and it was there that Rhaena would give birth to twin girls. Rhaella and Aerea Targaryen were born in 42 AC (1) amidst the chaos of Maegor's coup and Aegon's fury.

Aegon would march on Maegor, only to be slain at the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye, and it was here in the later part of 43 AC did the Pact of Ice and Fire finally come into play.

Rhaena flew to Fair Isle to await Maegor's summons, but would disguise her daughter Aerea to be sent with a loyal allies to be hidden away. Rhaella, would be kept with her mother until 46 AC, where Rhaella would finally relent and send her daughter North to be protected by the Starks. Rhaena would finally be summoned by Maegor in 47 AC, to wed him and give him heirs to cement his rule.

Unfortunately for Rhaena, she was presented with her daughter Aerea at her wedding to ensure her cooperation. Queen Tyanna had been able to find Aerea and this ensured Rhaena's cooperation.

However Queen Tyanna had been unable to stop Rhaella from going North, this lead Maegor to demand the Starks to fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire and bend the knee to the Targaryens. The North stood defiant and refused, stating that Rhaella was too young to marry.

Maegor's fury at being denied by the North only stung deeper when they replied that Maegor should focus on his fractured Kingdom rather than bothering a stable one in the North. Maegor would have mounted his dragon and flew to the North if not for his advisers warning him of his brother Jaehaerys, and the Faith's uprising.

Maegor would swear that he would make the North pay for their insolence one day.

* * *

 **Septa Lucia**

The North was nothing like what the others had told her, she had expected a land of lawless savages when she took the assignment to travel North. Instead she found an efficiency that she begrudgingly admitted was impressive.

It had started when they had passed the mighty gates of Moat Cailin, its thick black walls stood in towering defiance to the South. The black stone gleamed and radiated, it gave off a dark and overpowering sense of dread and death. How many good and true men had died trying to breach its walls?

The men who guarded it, armed themselves with wolf head helmets and wore cloaks of leather that reminded her more of human skin. They grinned menacingly as her carriage had passed by, and she had feared for her life, afraid that these beasts would slaughter her and her ward.

She checked in on her charge, a little girl of barely four name days slept peacefully wrapped in her scarlet red cloak. The hood over her head to hide her silver hair and to escape the notice of the beasts that served Maegor. She had come to see the little girl as a granddaughter, and she would give her life before seeing her harmed.

Yet as the walls of Winterfell grew closer, she could not help but feel a longing for her home. Before she had entered the Faith, she was a daughter of a very minor Lord in the Reach. Lucia of House Weston was what she was known as in her previous life.

Now, she was a sister of the Faith, a Septa to spread the light of the Seven. It was a life she was proud of, to bring peace and light to others. It was also why she had chosen to come North, the light of the Seven did not shine here in this dark land. Only in the city of White Harbor did it enlighten the Manderlys.

She hoped that her attachment to Rhaella; would help in showing the Starks the light, and by doing so bring the light to the whole North.

She could see the people suffering, how they were frightened of strangers and how they avoided her carriage like it was the plague. On the way North, they had stopped at a village to resupply, and had tried to spread the light to a few villagers. They had cursed her once they realized what was happening, and shouted at her to leave. She would have understood if they had shouted in anger, but their voices betrayed them and she could hear the fear.

Just what exactly caused so much fear in the North? She would find out, and save these people from it, to open their hearts to the Seven.

* * *

The carriage rode through Winter Town, a sprawling city made up of wooden houses. The houses each had burning hearths with black smoke escaping into the dark sky.

Winterfell stood on top of a large hill, its sprawling walls made for an intimidating sight. The blackened walls stood strong, spikes stuck out at the top with severed heads adorning them as a warning to any would be foe.

The gate to Winterfell itself was a snarling wolf's maw over a long bridge overlooking the city itself. Lucia wondered just how big of a force would be needed to breach it, to rescue them if they needed it.

Their party was led by a minor Lord loyal to Rhaena, a man named Jonothor Harper. She was glad he led them; he was a veteran of combat and had led men into battle before.

They passed beneath the maw of the wolf, and was soon inside the fortress proper, the giant gates closed behind them with a loud crash.

She helped her charge exit the carriage and was soon standing before the King of Winter himself. Beside him stood a small boy of a similar age to Rhaella, she could not see a wife - likely she died in childbirth. Instead there were women who appeared to be his sisters, and another man who stood below the steps of similar appearance.

The man who stood before them gave them a smile, it was warm yet there was something questionable about it that she could not quite put her finger on.

He spoke first. "I welcome you all my Lords and Ladies, I am Renfield Stark, steward of Winterfell."

Renfield's appearance was curious, a wide set mouth with yellow teeth and even wider yellow eyes that seemed half crazed. From her memories, she knew him as a brother to the current King of Winter.

Renfield continued. "You stand before the King of Winter, Lycan Stark."

Lycan stood tall - his face a look of indifference, his hair was of a darker gray. He was young, maybe only 30 name days at most. The most striking feature was that of his eyes, they were the typical Wolf Eyes that all Stark's had, yet his held much more orange than what was normal.

It was Lord Jon that spoke first. "I appreciate the welcome, your grace. I am Lord Jonothor Harper and I bring before you Lady Rhaella Targaryen and her Septa, Lucia."

Lycan inclined his head in greeting and walked down the steps to shake the man's hand. "I welcome you all to Winterfell, this is my son Luken." He motioned to his son to come down and the boy shook Lord Jon's hand as well.

The boy had the typical eyes of a Stark, but a smile that felt genuine and good. The boy stood before Lady Rhaella and took a small bow before kissing her hand. Both children giggled after that, and it warmed her heart to see such an exchange. Lord Jon seemed pleased at that as well.

"I would also like introduce my sisters, Verona and Aleera Stark." Said the Wolf King.

The ladies each curtsied and plastered beautiful smiles on their faces that did not quite match their wolf eyes.

"Please come into my hall, and accept my offer of bread and salt." The Wolf King said with a finality that left them scrambling to follow him.

The hall was the base of a tower that extended far above them, the top of the tower came to a rounded point, and it was surrounded by four smaller points at the corners of the tower. The main tower was connected to smaller towers that extended out to different points of Winterfell, behind the towers were larger buildings that must have housed the small folk that lived in Winterfell and were employed by the Starks.

The hall was huge, able to host hundreds of guests, it had a curve ceiling with red tinted windows that extended from mid-waist to the ceiling themselves.

At the end of the hall held the high table and the throne of Winter - a black wood chair with snarling wolves for hand rests and at the top was a huge direwolf head with a crown.

Yet it was not these impressive sights that drew their attention, behind the throne, high on the walls held a mounted wolf's head. Larger than any wolf she'd seen before, its teeth were fangs dotted with red spots. The eyes were blood red and it seemed to follow you as you moved around the hall.

Renfield spoke next, noticing the wide stares at the mounted wolf head that greeted them. "That is called Lycan's Trophy, a previous King of Winter had it mounted to celebrate the defeat of the Greystarks. King Lycan is named after the King who defeated them."

Whatever it was, it was not natural and she felt uncomfortable being underneath its stare. The head was much larger than a typical wolf and it seemed at any moment that the wolf would move. She did not like it.

She was shaken out of her thoughts when bread with salted meat was brought out - they ate with gusto, having barely stopped along the way North for fear of Maegor's minions.

Lord Jon seemed to visibly relaxed after guest rights were established, it was only natural as he was the sworn shield of Princess Rhaella while she was here.

Their party was broken up after that, the three of them were shown their rooms and the other guards that came North with them were shown to the barracks. Finally, it was about to begin and she would see the measure of these Wolves.

* * *

It had been months and still she had no success in leading the Starks to the light of the Seven. Her attempts to speak to them were met with laughter and arrogance - they did not take her seriously.

She had tried to approach the youngest Stark first, Luken was his name. It was a mistake she wouldn't be making again, the Starks took it as an attempt to single out their youngest - their fury that day surprised her. They had circled her, the sisters and Renfield – speaking ill of her and had cutting words thrown at her, accusing her of terrible things.

Luckily for her, Lord Jonothor had stepped in to be the diplomat, and King Stark had been understanding. Yet she was still a pariah in Winterfell after that, even the other women who worked in the Stark household shunned her.

Except for one, a woman by the name of Malava, she had warned her than to never anger a Stark.

Their anger at her luckily didn't extend to little Rhaella, Lucia still took the initiative in teaching the young Princess in how to be a Lady.

However, as the moons passed and the days grew to months, she started to see less of the Princess. It was subtle at first, but by the time she noticed it, it was too late. The Starks played a masterful game, and they were patient, so very patient. She had to watch every word she said, every interaction she had with them, it all seemed like there was a purpose to it that she still could not grasp. They just never seemed to stop and relax, or maybe it was something only privy to family.

For being so patient, their moods and angers seemed change drastically, it was never directed at her or the Princess. She just noticed it in other ways, when she spoke of this to Lord Jonothor - he seemed incredulous that she would think that way. To him the Starks have been perfect hosts and they were lucky that King Lycan sheltered them - word had reached them of the wedding of Maegor and Rhaena. How Queen Tyanna had presented Aerea at the wedding to ensure Rhaena's cooperation.

This frightened Lord Jon, but King Lycan assured them that the North was not going to hand them over to Maegor. This won Lord Jon over to the Starks and it only deepened when ravens had arrived from King's Landing, demanding the Starks to come south to bend the knee and to hand over Rhaella, only for King Lycan to refuse.

It should have eased her fears, yet it did not, and what happened next only ignited her suspicions even further. Some bandits had been caught along the King's Road outside Winter Town - it would have been simple in the South, a quick death or the Wall.

Yet it was not as simple as she would have thought, their judgment fell on the day following the Wolf's Moon (2). Renfield the mad man had ordered them to be disemboweled, their innards strewn across the Heart Tree in the godswood. Renfield did this in front of King Lycan and the man had not even batted an eye at that. The rest of her party had been disgusted, but the others had brushed it off saying it was a custom of the North.

Lucia had seen her fair share of things barbaric, but this was different, the Starks had the deed done with so little emotion that she questioned if they were men or beast wearing human cloaks.

It came as a routine to her than, and the barbaric things that the Starks did seemed to coincide with the Wolf's Moon.

Things became even more suspicious when she noticed figures sneaking into the godswood on the night of the Wolf's Moon. These figures would come during the night and leave during the early morning, when first light came.

She was only able to notice this, as her room overlooked part of the entrance to the godswood. One night she had even seen a flash of yellow in the shadow, she was sure it was the wolf eyes of one of the Starks.

Dark things were happening in the North, and she feared that the Starks were at the center of all of it. She wanted to send ravens out to the High Septon, yet the North did not have Maesters, instead they were trained and guarded by loyal men to the Starks.

Whatever was happening, she was determined to find out what it was and to warn the rest of Westeros. She was sure the Starks were practicing dark magic and rituals in the North.

A few days previous a wildling raider had been captured and brought to the dungeons, she would begin there. She would question him and have her answers - he had come in raving and pleading to not be brought to Winterfell.

She needed to know why.

* * *

She had snuck into the dungeons the next night, she was careful to do it on a night before the Wolf's Moon. The guard had been surprised to see her, but she told him about how she wanted to bring the light to the Wildling – her response was met with an eye roll. Luckily, he had no interest in hearing of the Seven and had left her alone outside the cell that the Wildling was occupying.

A conversation would have been good and informative, except the Wildling had clearly gone mad. Her first sight of him was of him staring into the corner rocking back and forth, he muttered of monsters and being devoured by wolves.

Her questions of him were met with rants and ravings of why no Wildlings went south of the Wall anymore, why he should have listened to his father about the dangers from the south – how Winterfell was the heart of darkness.

When she asked him about the Starks, he grew panicky and he almost grabbed her through the bars, pleading with her to convince them to let him go back North over the wall. He told her would be good like the Ironborn, and would never come to Stark lands again, just like them.

She was confused, she had always thought the Ironborn raided wherever they liked, that the North was one of their favorite places.

Whatever the case was, the Wildling had clearly had enough; he turned back to his corner and muttered ancient prayers in a language she could not decipher.

Lucia left him there, and returned to her chambers. Whatever it was that had frightened the man, it had to do with the Starks and Winterfell. She needed to know what was happening in the godswood.

She was determined to find answers.

* * *

There were only four Starks that really snuck into the godswood at night, and Lucia was patient to wait until she saw all four figures moving in the night.

She followed them, deep into the heart of the godswood – the woods themselves were deep and extended quite a distance from the main tower. The trees were old themselves and their branches extended overhead, almost like a canopy for anyone entering the woods. She could barely see the light of the moon through the trees, she wondered if screams could be heard all the way out here?

In her previous life as a minor Lady, she had learned how to hunt from her father and brothers. Her family was poor for Lords and often times they had to hunt to survive. Yet she was proud of her house, they blazoned their banner with a cat, to show their prowess as silent hunters.

The deeper she went, the more her heart pounded, she could hear sounds and light coming from deep within the woods. The dark did not scare her, yet the faces on the trees gave her chills, as if they watched her.

It was a cold night, yet she could feel the sweat flowing off her brow, her breath was short and she didn't know if the pounding of her heart would cause it to implode.

The closer she crept, the more she felt the chill in the air - it made her shiver and gave her goose bumps. Everything in her was telling her to leave - that this was not meant to be seen by mortal eyes, yet the energy in the air drew her closer.

They were at the mouth of a cavern - the fire drew shadows that danced on the trees and leaves. She dared not peek out from where she hid, but she was able to see the shadows along a wall of rock.

The Starks were there, she could hear their voices. They had with them wolves - giant ones that circled something. It took her a minute, but she could make out the whimpering of a man – he was likely gagged.

Lucia could hear the shrill laughter of the Stark women and the energetic voice of approval from Renfield. They were talking about carving the man up and devouring him. Where was the King? Did he know about this?

Clouds had passed by the moon and she lost sight of her surroundings as it plunged into darkness, only the light of the fire and the shadow came. It blinded her from seeing much else.

She shivered when they spoke about their favorite parts to eat, and she slowly realized that they did not mean for the wolves to eat the man. Cannibalism, the Starks were practicing cannibalism, it was a crime against humanity. She needed to warn the South about this, to warn the High Septon and the Citadel of these monsters.

The clouds passed the moon than allowing for the light to filter into the trees and she could see again.

It was there that she saw it, two giant eyes looking at her from a few trees away, big orange eyes that bore into her soul. She hitched her breath, and hoped it didn't see her, yet when it slowly started moving towards her that she knew her prayers were not answered.

Her instincts flared and she ran.

Something barreled into her and she almost lost her bearings. Lucia was dazed, but she got up quickly, and continued running. She felt it then, slamming into her again, landing on top of her. It was a small clearing, but it allowed for the Wolf's Moon to shine light onto her assailant.

The beast was big and black, it opened its maw to growl at her and she could see the fangs clearly. It gnashed its teeth, giant white ones as big as her fingers. The beast had a long snout that resembled a wolf, giant orange eyes that promised death and destruction. Behind those eyes she could see intelligence and cunning - that frightened her more than anything else.

It was broad shouldered and had stood on two legs - its upper body had rippling muscles that was unnatural. Its arms extended into big woven hands with huge claws where the fingertips should be.

Lucia's body was broken, when the beast had landed on her, she felt the bones in her legs snap. She knew she could no longer run. Her only comfort was in reciting the prayers of the Seven.

The beast dragged Lucia back towards the light of the cavern, and the other wolves laughed mockingly at her. She could see clearly now, the forms of all of them, they were wolves that resembled men. Yet men they were not and there was no warmth or comfort they gave, only malice, only darkness.

She saw it clearly now, the corpse of a man - he had been devoured. His body a mixture of torn flesh and she could see the blood and bone. Lucia was certain this was the Wildling she had questioned, before he was torn asunder.

Lucia could hardly hear - her head was ringing from the collision with the wolf. Except for a voice that rang clear to her, the voice of the King. She could hear it now, coming from the black beast that had broken her.

It was hard to make out what it said, but the beasts drew closer to her and placed her body onto a table near the fire. She could only focus on her prayers, she had to.

Lucia felt it when the teeth ripped into her, four giant maws of teeth gnashed and tore her apart. She heard herself screaming then, shrill and hoarse.

Her last thought, was that of the girl she regarded as her granddaughter.

* * *

 **Maegor Targaryen**

Fury and wrath, he would bring fury and wrath onto those foolish Northerners that continued to defy him.

His weakling of a father had failed in subjugating them and he would succeed where the fool had not. It would be perfect, and finally satisfy those fanatics in the Faith that dared rebel against him.

He ordered a servant to get Belarion saddled and ready, he was heading North.

* * *

AN: Yes the Starks are werewolves. Was anyone able to guess the little hints of the little red riding hood or Lycan's Trophy? Tell me what you think.

(1) Rhaella and Aerea were originally born in 43 AC, but I wanted to age them up one year.

(2) The Wolf's Moon means it's a Full Moon.


End file.
